


The Adventure Begins

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Study in Pink, AU: Different Meeting, Case, Dancing, Explicit Sexual Content, Flatshare, M/M, One Night Stand, Work, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-17 11:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16515365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: A wedding is a romantic setting for most, but when Sherlock meets a handsome stranger, romance is not quite the right word for what’s on their minds. What started as a one night adventure turns into much, much more.





	1. Molly's Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, please subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

John sat in the pews near the back, trying to pay attention as the vicar went on and on. He knew it was a special day for Molly, and he was happy for her, but he was bored. He wanted to get to the reception and start the party. He looked at the people around him, then at the people on the other side of the church. Maybe some people-watching would keep him entertained for a while. It had to be almost over. 

He moved his eyes along the rows and paused on someone looking behind them. He had a sharp jaw and dark hair -- he was handsome. John tried to catch his eye, but he wasn't paying attention. Not to John anyway. John glanced around but couldn’t tell what the man was looking at.

“If you interrupt this day, I’ll kill you,” Mrs Hudson said. “Turn round, put your lighter away, and stop being stupid -- you’re not allowed to smoke in churches and don’t pretend you aren’t well aware of that fact.”

“Well, I want a word with the vicar -- it’s hardly a sanctuary if I can’t do what makes me most comfortable,” Sherlock said. He was pouting. He hadn’t wanted to come, but Mrs Hudson said he’d had to.

“I hate to break it to you, Sherlock Holmes,” she said. “But today is not about you. It’s about Molly. So behave.”

“I thought you said there’d be drink here,” he said. “Where’s that?”

Mrs Hudson shot him a look. “That’s at the reception afterward, but you get none if you don’t keep your voice down and behave like an adult,” she said. She roughly handed him the program. “Here, read this and keep quiet,” she said.

Sherlock slumped a little in the pew and stared at the paper. He hadn’t known Molly’s middle name and now he did. He had a feeling that’d be the most interesting part of this whole day.

It wasn't too long after John noticed the handsome man that things started wrapping up. The announcement was made, and Molly grinned out at the crowd. John couldn't help smiling as well. She looked truly happy. He watched them leave, and then the guests started to file out. John waited until he saw that man passing, squeezing out to walk behind him. He was very tall. John hoped he would be going to the reception. Maybe he could find a reason to talk to him there. 

“What is the hold up?” Sherlock asked Mrs Hudson.

“There’s a reception line,” she said. “To congratulate the couple.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but when they got to Molly, he managed to be appropriate.

“See?” he said to Mrs Hudson as they made their way to a taxi. “I behaved. Does this mean we can go home now?” 

“Oh, do shut up,” she said as they walked over to the hall. “It was a lovely ceremony, don’t you think?” she asked him.

“I suppose,” he answered.

“And you look lovely -- very handsome out in the sun. You should spend less time inside, the sun suits you.”

Sherlock gave her a silly smile and lit up a cigarette. “You look lovely as well, Mrs Hudson,” he said. “Thank you for coming to this with me. I wouldn’t have been able to tolerate it on my own.”

“Well, maybe one day you won’t be on your own,” she said. “Maybe one day I’ll be sitting in church watching you get married.”

“Unlikely,” he laughed. He held the door open for her and said, “I’m going to finish this out here. I’ll get us drinks in a moment if you can manage to wait to start on the liquor.”

“Don’t be long,” she called, and he moved himself to the side of the building, lighting another cigarette as he leaned against the brick.

John saw the man veer off from the door but he didn't follow because he didn't want to come on too strong. He went inside and found his table. Before taking his seat, he went to the bar and got in line. 

Sherlock stubbed out his cigarette against the brick and dropped it in the bin. He went in and found Mrs Hudson. He noticed a coat on a chair. “Did you invite someone to sit with us?” he asked. “That’s rude, I don’t want anyone else around me.”

“Again, not about you -- that’s how receptions work. You sit where you’re supposed to, and you may notice there are a number of chairs around here,” she said. “Quite frankly, I’ll be glad to have someone else to talk to. Now, go get me something to drink.”

Sherlock looked over at the bar and headed over. He stood next to a shorter man who, Sherlock was surprised to find himself noticing, was quite handsome. “What are you doing here?” he asked the man.

John looked over and couldn't help a small smile. What luck! "I was invited, believe it or not," he said. "I went to school with Molly."

“I see,” Sherlock said. “But you decided not to marry her?”

"I figured I'd let her fiancé handle that part," John said. "How do you know her? Or do you know the groom?" 

"I work with Molly," Sherlock said. "I don't know the man, but I hope she's happy." As the words came out of his mouth, Sherlock couldn't decide if they sound like he was wishing them well or being sarcastic, so instead he changed the subject. "What are you drinking?" he asked.

"Whiskey and Coke, I think. What about you?" he asked. 

"I'll have the same, but without the Coke," Sherlock said to the bartender. "And a glass of white wine."

John glanced over. "Is that for your date?" he asked. 

Sherlock thought for a moment. He’d started this conversation with this guy -- it was just a bit of fun to kill time -- but he knew whatever he said next might quickly change the tone. “It is,” he said. “But I should clarify that we won’t be walking down the aisle anytime soon.”

"No?" John asked, looking back over at him. "So . . . it’s not serious? Or it’s just not wedding-bells serious?"

Sherlock glanced over, noticing that the man’s pupils were slightly dilated. Interesting. “Not serious. I’m not a very serious man,” Sherlock said. “And your date -- not a drinker?” he added, nodding to the man’s one glass. 

John shook his head. "I didn't bring a date," he said. 

“Well, that’s not really in the spirit of the day, is it?” Sherlock said.

John shrugged. "Perhaps I'm still looking for someone to get into the spirit with," he said. 

“Well, I hope you find them,” Sherlock said, lifting his glass and giving him a wink.

John raised his glass and smiled. "I hope so too," he said. He turned and walked away from the man, smiling wider when he knew he couldn't be seen. 

That was interesting, Sherlock thought, as he took a quick sip of his drink and grabbed the wine glass, heading back to the table. As he approached, he saw the man sitting next to Mrs Hudson. He decided not to smile, but he couldn’t help appreciating his presence, hoping it would liven up the rest of the reception.

“So who’s your friend?” he asked Mrs Hudson.

She glanced over. “I’m sorry -- I didn’t get your name,” she said.

John watched the tall, handsome man walk over and put the wine in front the woman he was talking to. "I'm John," he said, looking up at Sherlock. "Is this your date?" he asked her. 

“It is,” Sherlock said. 

“It’s not like that,” Mrs Hudson said and then realised it was probably unnecessary. “Do you two know each other then?”

“We just met at the bar,” Sherlock said and took a drink. He gave John a half smile.

John took a sip of his drink. "Its funny we've ended up at the same table," he said. 

“It’s hilarious,” Sherlock said.

Mrs Hudson shot him a look and then turned to John. “So . . . are you a friend of Molly or of the groom . . . I’m sorry I can’t remember his name.”

"I'm a friend of Molly's, we went to school together," he said. "Do you know her, or is it just . . ." He trailed off and motioned towards the man beside her. "Sorry, I didn't get your name," he said. 

“My name is Sherlock,” Sherlock said. “Slightly more memorable than Lance.”

“Molly’s husband’s not called Lance!” Mrs Hudson scolded. She got out the programme. “Oh yes, it’s Tim, he’s called Tim.”

“I think we’ve established that none of us at this table know him or care what his name is,” Sherlock said. He looked straight at John as he asked, “So Mrs Hudson, John didn’t bring a date to the wedding. What do you think of that?”

John laughed at the interaction but waited to see what she would say. He looked between them -- he was glad he was at this table with them.

Mrs Hudson looked over at John. “Well, perhaps he just came to celebrate Molly’s marriage,” she said. “Or perhaps he’s looking for someone new,” she added raising her eyebrows slightly.

“Hmmm . . . so which is it, John?” Sherlock asked.

"Hmm, the first. But like I said at the bar, I haven't found that person yet. Could be anywhere," he smiled.

Sherlock glanced around the room. “I’m not convinced here is the right place . . . what kind of person are you looking for?” he asked.

John shrugged. "Sometimes you don't know until you find them," he said. "Could be right in front of you, couldn't they?" He smiled softly, suggestively, and took another sip of his drink before looking around the room again. Nearly everyone was there and in their seats, waiting for the party to arrive from their photos. 

“If you’re talking about Mrs Hudson, don’t forget she’s with me tonight,” Sherlock said cheekily. 

Mrs Hudson swatted at Sherlock’s arm with a laugh. “I’m going to . . . go somewhere else for a moment,” she said and moved away from the table.

Sherlock slid over to her chair next to John. “Are you going to be hitting on my date all night?” he asked.

John laughed. "I was simply being nice," he said. 

“Is that your deal then, being nice? Coming to Molly’s wedding just to be nice? Joining our table just to be nice?”

"I came to Molly's wedding because she's my friend and invited me," John said. "But I like to think that I am nice. It’s not an act."

“Hmm . . . I’m not sure I should trust such obvious charm,” Sherlock said.

"Well, maybe you just need more proof.”

“I’ve got all evening,” Sherlock said with a smile.

John smiled wider. "Perfect." Before he could say anything else the deejay started to announce the party. He turned to look at everyone coming in. 

Sherlock turned as well. Molly did look quite lovely, and he really did hope that this marriage would make her happy. Everyone began clapping -- when he saw Mrs Hudson clapping as well, he joined in. Once things went back to normal, he turned to John and said, “What happens next?”

"Speeches, food, dances, cake . . . and then everyone dances," John said.

“That’s quite a lot of fuss,” Sherlock said. 

"Do you like dancing?” John asked.

Sherlock finished his drink. “Do you like dancing?” he asked, without offering his own answer.

John nodded. "I'm not very good at it, but I still like it," he said. "You?"

“I’m an excellent dancer,” Sherlock said. “Perhaps if I get another drink, you might get a chance to witness it.”

"Perhaps I can get your next drink and you can show me a thing or two," John offered. 

“There’s that charm . . .” Sherlock said. “I wouldn’t say no.”

"I'll be right back," he said, standing to go to the bar. 

Mrs Hudson returned to the table. “What happened to John?” she asked. “Did you do something to him?”

“Outrageous suggestion,” Sherlock said.

“He’s handsome, don’t you think?”

“Are you planning to run off with him then?” Sherlock asked her.

“Of course not. He’s too old for me,” she said with a laugh. “But perhaps you know someone he might be perfect for?”

“Molly’s married now, Mrs Hudson,” he said. “That would be inappropriate.”

She smacked his arm. “Listen, I know men,” she said. “And he’s interested. And I know you, Sherlock Holmes, and I dare say you’re interested as well.”

“Are you drunk already?” he smiled.

“No,” she said. “Are you?”

“Not yet,” he said. 

“Well, just be sensible,” she said. She closed her eyes for a minute. “I’m just picturing the two of you walking down the aisle now.”

“Stop it,” he said, looking round to see John returning.

John smiled at both of them. He put down all three drinks, having brought another glass of wine for Mrs. Hudson as well. "I hope they let us eat soon," he said as he sat down on her other side again. 

“Thank you, John,” Mrs Hudson said. “That’s very kind of you. Wasn’t it, Sherlock?”

“I hate to break it to you, Mrs Hudson,” he said. “But he has an ulterior motive. But thanks,” he added, lifting his drink toward John.

John lifted his own drink and tapped it on Sherlock's. "I don't know what you mean," he said. 

Sherlock smiled and then saw that Mrs Hudson was smiling as well. “Do we have to eat or something?” he asked, changing the subject.

"It’s buffet style so we go up there to get what we want," John said, pointing to where the employees were lighting the small heating fires. 

“Why? Are you hungry?” Mrs Hudson asked.

“Maybe,” Sherlock said. “I do intend to keep drinking, though, so I recognise that I should have some food in my stomach at some point.”

Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes but gave him a smile. They watched Molly and her new husband move around talking to people at tables and then eventually the two were directed to the food. Sherlock seemed eager to get up, but Mrs Hudson pointed out he had to wait as things seemed quite organised and tables were being asked to go up in a certain order.

“That must be the husband’s doing,” Sherlock grumbled. “Molly is smart and organised, but she’s not a control freak like that.”

“Spoken by a true expert,” Mrs Hudson said.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You know what it means,” she said. “I’m teasing you,” she added before turning to John and saying,” He’s lovely actually, don’t worry.”

When their table was allowed up, John followed the two of them, taking his place in line and slowly filling his plate with a little bit of everything. It all looked and smelled so good. He looked ahead where Sherlock was being very picky about what he was putting on his own plate. 

Sherlock glanced over at John. He was quite handsome and a bit of fun -- more than he’d expected from this wedding, so why not enjoy this little adventure? He turned to help Mrs Hudson, holding both plates as she scooped food. “Be realistic,” he told her as he watched her put too many potatoes on his plate.

John took his food back to the table but waited for Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson to come back to the table before he started eating. 

Sherlock nibbled at his food. A server came round to ask if anyone would like another drink, and when she left, he leaned in and said to John, “She was quite beautiful -- perhaps she’s the one you were meant to find?”

John looked after the waitress and shook his head. "No, I don't think so," he said. 

“What about him?” Sherlock asked, nodding toward an old man at the next table who looked like an older, balder version of Molly’s new husband.

John laughed. "No, certainly not," he said. 

“Hmmm . . . does that mean you’re homophobic or just ageist?” Sherlock asked.

"He's just not my type, that's all."

“Fair enough,” Sherlock said. “You’ve not seen anyone yet who is your type?”

"I might have. But I can't tell you or you might try and steal him," John said. 

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock said. “I’ve got a date, don’t forget. Besides, I’m not the one who is looking -- you are.”

"Either way, I think I will keep my secret until I know more," he said. 

“Interesting,” Sherlock said. “What about you, Mrs Hudson? Anyone here you fancy?”

She laughed. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Though I suppose romance is in the air.”

“Well, don’t run off with someone without letting me know -- I don’t want to be waiting around all night to head home if you’ll be spending the night in some man’s flat,” Sherlock said.

“Stop it,” she laughed. “Perhaps you’ve had enough to drink -- you’re being silly.”

“I’m doing just fine,” Sherlock said. “I’m finally enjoying myself -- don’t spoil it for me.” He looked over at John and smiled.

John smiled back. "I'm having a great time," he announced. It seemed the special dances were over. The dance floor was opened to everyone, and Molly started making her way around to meet with guests. 

Sherlock set his plate to the side. “I’m going to get another drink,” he said. “Would anyone like one?”

“Not right now,” Mrs Hudson said. “Be careful . . .”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John?”

"Yeah, sure," he said, smiling at Sherlock. "Thanks."

“Perhaps you’d like to join me at the bar?” 

John tilted his head lightly and nodded. "Okay, sure," he said. He stood up and excused himself to Mrs. Hudson, walking with Sherlock to the bar. 

Sherlock ordered for them both. He turned and looked round the room. “So is this how you imagine it will all end for you -- a wedding like this?” he asked.

"Maybe," John said. He looked around the venue and shrugged. "What about you?"

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock said. “It all seems a bit pointless.”

"The party or the whole union?" John asked. 

“Both, I suppose,” Sherlock said. “What’s the point? I want Molly to be happy, but realistically most relationships don’t last.”

"I'm not going to bore you with the whole 'you just have to find the right person' mantra, but I think if you find someone you really care about you make it work -- you don't give up on them. I think most people are easily frustrated and quick to give up."

“I don’t doubt that’s true -- the second part, at least,” Sherlock said. “I don’t get why there has to be such a show about it all.”

"When people are happy they want to show it off," John smiled. 

“That’s not really my cup of tea,” Sherlock said.

"Well, everyone is different," he said. He took a sip of his drink. 

“You’re quite different,” Sherlock said.

"How so?" John asked, looking over at Sherlock. He really was very handsome with those features and dark hair. John wanted to put his hands in that hair, and suddenly he wondered what those sharp features would look like softened in pleasure. John felt his cheeks heat, and he looked away while waiting for Sherlock's answer. 

Sherlock felt the urge to smile, but decided to keep it to himself. What he’d been hoping, what Mrs Hudson had guessed, was true: John was interested. The clues were there. As he turned to the bartender to get the drinks, he considered whether or not he himself was interested. The answer to that was obvious. But interested in what? He wasn’t quite sure of that part yet. But he was enjoying this flirting and right now that was all that mattered. He handed one glass to John. “Drink now,” he said, taking a sip of his own. “And then we dance.”

John took a long sip of his drink and looked back at Sherlock. "Are you asking me?" 

“I thought you asked me earlier,” Sherlock said. “If you prefer I find someone else, Mrs Hudson would probably oblige . . .” He took another swig of his drink and looked over at her. She was smiling a little too widely when their eyes met.

"No," John said. "I would like to dance with you."

“Good,” Sherlock said. “Because you’re the only one I’ll be dancing with.”

John smiled and finished his drink, moving a bit closer to Sherlock in the process. "Slow dance or fast dance?" he asked. 

“It’s not up to me, it’s just to the DJ,” Sherlock said. He gulped the last of his drink, then reached out for John’s hand, pulling him to the dancefloor.

John smiled as he was pulled onto the dance floor. The song that was playing ended and changed to a slow song. He looked up at Sherlock and moved closer. "I guess the deejay’s decided," he said. 

“We can’t let Molly down,” Sherlock said, slipping his arm around John’s lower back. He leaned in, his head against John’s. He inhaled his smell as they swayed to the music.

"No, we can't," John said, holding Sherlock's hand and putting the other on his shoulder. 

The last drink had gone a bit to Sherlock’s head, and he could feel himself relax into their motion. He put his mouth near John’s ear and whispered, “You’re a good dancer.”

John leaned his head closer, a shiver moving through him as Sherlock's breath heated his ear. "You too," he said. "That's a sign you're good at other things," he murmured. 

Sherlock smiled against John’s ear. He had a decision to make, he knew that. He closed his eyes for a moment to clear his head -- this decision needed him to be clear -- and thought. About pleasure but also about consequences. He opened his eyes. “Would you like to find out?” he asked softly.

John smiled wider and nodded. "I have a room here at the hotel," he said.

Sherlock thought for a moment. “How many other men have you taken up to you room so far?” he asked.

John met his gaze. "No one," he said. 

“And you know Molly how again?”

"We went to school together," he said. 

“Lead the way,” Sherlock said, grabbing hold of John’s hand.


	2. John's Hotel Room

John took them off the dance floor and towards the door. He wondered if people were watching them, if they suspected what they were doing. "It’s on the fourth floor," he said. 

“That’s fine,” Sherlock said stupidly.

They got into the elevator and John pushed the button. As the door was closing he pressed up against Sherlock and tugged him down to kiss him. Sherlock pushed John back against the lift’s wall, adding urgency to the kiss. He gripped John’s hips and pulled them close as John slid his hand into those curls, moaning as he tugged softly. 

Sherlock’s mouth dropped to John’s neck, just as the bell rang and the doors opened. He stepped back to let John out, following him closely. John led them to his room, swiping the key and pushing the door. As soon as he closed it, he pulled Sherlock close again, kissing his mouth. 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s body, squeezing his arse as the kiss became deeper. He could feel himself stiffening and pressed his hips into John’s. “You need a condom,” he whispered as his hands slipped to John’s front and he began unbuttoning his trousers.

"I have them," John said, pressing closer. He wanted to rub against Sherlock's thigh -- he needed something -- but Sherlock's hands were taking his clothes off so he grabbed at the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt.

As soon as John’s trousers were opened, Sherlock slipped a hand inside his pants and began stroking him. His cock was hot and hard. Despite it being a while since Sherlock had felt like this, he was filled with want. He got down on his knees, pulling John’s trousers and pants with him and sucked his cock into his mouth.

"God -- fuck!" John fell back against the door, his hand immediately buried in those curls again, watching that lovely mouth move over him. 

Sherlock liked that response, a boost of confidence was never a bad thing in this department. He kept working his mouth on John, letting one of his hands slip down so he could rub himself through his trousers. Soon, though, he could feel himself getting too close and stood up to pull John to the bed.

John followed, stepping out of his trousers and pants. He took his shirt off then went back to Sherlock's clothes, climbing over him. "You're so sexy," he said as he peeled off Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock helped get his shirt off and then pulled John down on top of him. The feeling of their chests pressed together was amazing, and he kissed his mouth roughly, arching his hips off the bed. John pulled out of the kiss and moved lower, tugging his trousers and pants off as he went. 

Sherlock lifted a hand to wipe his face, which was damp with sweat already. He looked up at the ceiling and then down at John, reaching down to touch his hair. John licked a stripe up Sherlock's cock, taking him into his mouth and bobbing up and down. He looked up at Sherlock as he moaned softly. 

“That’s good,” Sherlock mumbled. Because it was. It felt incredibly good. He spread his legs a little.

John hummed as he pulled off. "Can you reach the lube in my drawer?" he asked, taking Sherlock into his mouth again.

Sherlock pushed up off the bed and tried to reach the drawer. Inside was a small bag. He took a peek in and grabbed the lube, dropping it down the bed. “Those pills aren’t for an infectious disease, are they?” he asked with a smile.

John just smiled and then poured a bit of lube on him. He rubbed the spot and pushed his finger in as he bobbed his head. 

“Fuck,” Sherlock said, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s good,” he mumbled, pulling a little on John’s hair. He ran his other hand over his chest and then dropped it to the mattress, gripping the duvet. John hummed around Sherlock's cock and added a second finger, curving them against to tease his prostate. 

“Fuck,” Sherlock said again, this time more loudly. “I’m not going to be able to take much more of that.”

John pulled off of Sherlock's cock and pushed in another finger. Then he shifted to sit up, reaching for the box of condoms in the drawer. Sherlock’s hand immediately went to his own wet cock, stroking it as he watched John roll on the condom. John poured a bit more lube and lined up. He looked up at him again and pushed in slowly, groaning softly. 

Sherlock moaned loudly and used his free hand to pull John down toward him. He kissed his mouth roughly, still moaning through the kiss. The bed shook with their bodies’ movement. It wasn’t long until Sherlock’s hand gripped the back of John’s neck as he felt all his muscles start to tighten. “I’m close,” he stuttered out.

"Me too," John moaned, kissing his mouth again. 

A loud noise escaped from deep in Sherlock’s throat as his hand moved quickly over his cock until he was coming, arching his back a bit as he pressed his head against the pillow. John watched his face before letting go. He buried into Sherlock's neck as he too came.

Sherlock exhaled loudly and then slowly opened his eyes. “Well, that was more entertaining than that band downstairs,” he said with a smile. He lifted a hand to wipe away the hair that was stuck with sweat to his forehead.

John chuckled as he slowly pulled out and lay beside him, catching his breath. 

Sherlock pushed himself up from the bed. “I need to clean up,” he said, glancing down at his stomach. “Where’s the toilet?”

John pointed towards the bathroom, closing his eyes and sighing. 

Sherlock grabbed his clothes and rushed in. He grabbed a cloth and wiped up his stomach and wrist and then splashed some water onto his face. He quickly dressed and fiddled with hair. He took a deep breath and then checked the mirror. He looked all right. He came out and said, “I don’t think I look too crumpled.”

"No," he said. He sat up and stretched, getting up to get cleaned up and dressed as well. "Think anyone will know?"

“Definitely not, we look the same as we did before we came up here,” he said. “We’ll tell Mrs Hudson we went out for a cigarette -- I don’t imagine anyone else will notice we’ve been gone.”

John raised his brows and tussled his hair a bit. "Are you sure?"

“I don’t know anyone else,” Sherlock said. “I suppose the cute waitress might have been looking for you.”

"I mean are you sure we don't look like we just had sex," John explained. 

“Well, I’ve never seen what you look like after sex -- until now obviously -- and it doesn’t seem all that different to what you looked like before,” Sherlock said. “So as long as the condom’s not stuck to your shoe or something, I think we’re good. Besides, it’s not a crime. Just a little adventure between strangers.”

John smiled. He checked himself in the mirror and then followed Sherlock out of his room. 

“Shall we have one more dance?” Sherlock asked as they entered the lift. “Perhaps I can convince Mrs Hudson we’ve been out there the whole time, and she only imagined our absence due to her white wine intake.”

"I don't think she'll by that," John said, smiling over at him.

“You don’t know her,” Sherlock said. When the doors opened, he said, “After you . . .”

John stepped out, smoothed his clothes a bit more and went back into the reception hall. 

Someone was at the mic talking. Sherlock glanced at John and nodded his head toward the bar. “Just some water,” he said and then turned to John. “Let’s get drinks before we head back to the table.”

"Okay. Um, just a water for me as well. And a glass of white wine," he said, glancing back at their table.

Sherlock smiled. He got the drinks, handing one water to John. They moved along the side of the room back to their table. “What’d we miss?” he asked, sitting down next to Mrs Hudson.

“Where have you two been?” she asked.

“We went out for a cigarette,” he said. “Dancing was boring.”

She looked at him skeptically. She turned to John. “You smoke?” she said. “You look too healthy.”

"I went for company," John said, shrugging casually. 

“Please stop bullying me,” Sherlock said. “I just bought you a drink.”

“Fine -- thank you,” she said, taking a sip. “You missed most of the toasts . . . cake will be next.”

“Not interested,” Sherlock said.

She looked over at him. “Is it raining out?” she asked.

“No,” Sherlock said. He instinctively ran his hand through his hair which was dry. “Why?”

“No reason,” she said, reaching over to fiddle with his hair.

He pulled back a little. “Perhaps you’ve already had enough to drink,” he said, looking over at John for help.

"I'm excited for cake," John said. 

“I’m glad there’s at least one normal person at this table with me,” she said. She and John applauded once the speaker stopped, and then someone started clinking their glasses. Molly leaned over and kissed her husband, and everyone applauded again.

“Tedious tradition,” Sherlock said under this breath.

Then the couple stood up and moved over to the table with that cake.

“I don’t think there will be enough cake there for everyone,” Sherlock said.

“What do you care?” Mrs Hudson asked.

“I just don’t want you or John to be disappointed,” he said.

"I think we'll be okay. They make those by guest numbers," he said. 

“Well . . . good,” Sherlock said. “Good . . . as long as you’re not disappointed.”

John glanced over at him. "I'm not," he said. 

“Good, it’s all good,” Sherlock said.

“Yes, everything’s good,” Mrs Hudson said. “This conversation is boring.”

Sherlock pulled her wine glass toward him. “All right you’re cut off,” he said. “Complaining about things being boring is very childish -- you must be drunk.”

John chuckled and sipped his water. "Let her have fun," he grinned. 

She laughed and took her glass back. “I’m just tipsy,” she said. “Though I am starting to get tired. It’s been a long day -- lovely but long.”

They started passing out the cake slices, and Molly made her way to their table to say hello.

"Are you having fun?" she asked. 

John nodded and smiled. "We are."

“We are,” Sherlock agreed. “Are you?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Good,” Sherlock said. “That’s what today is about.” He glanced over at Mrs Hudson, who looked back at him approvingly.

“I was just saying how lovely it’s all been, Molly,” she said. “We’re so happy for you.”

“Are you, Sherlock?” Molly asked him.

“Of course,” he said. “I want you to be happy.” It wasn’t a precise agreement, but it was true.

Molly smiled. "Have you been behaving? I made the seating chart like this on purpose, I thought you two might have some things in common."

John glanced at Sherlock and cleared his throat. "Yeah, we've been chatting all night," he said. 

Sherlock wasn’t sure what Molly was referring to -- was John also a detective? That’s when he realised he didn’t even know John’s work was. What had been thinking shagging a complete stranger? Actually, at this point, Molly’s comment made him feel a little bit better. Whatever connection she imagined, perhaps that’s what made their tryst all right.

“How much longer will this last?” he asked her.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “You can go any time -- you’re not being held against your will,” she said. She glanced around, looking for her new husband. “I think it should be wrapping up soon -- we’re leaving for our honeymoon tonight,” she added.

“How lovely,” Mrs Hudson said. “Where are you going?”

“Paris,” Molly said.

“That’s original,” Sherlock said under his breath.

“It’s romantic,” Molly corrected him. “That’s all that matters. To me, at least -- I know you don’t feel the same.”

Sherlock reached over and took a sip of Mrs Hudson’s wine. He didn’t really have anything else to say so decided not to risk saying something else wrong.

"I think Paris sounds wonderful," John said. He stood up and stretched. "I think I will get going, actually. I have work in the morning." He hugged Molly and congratulated her again before looking at Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. "It was great meeting you both," he said. 

Sherlock stood up suddenly and awkwardly. “Yes,” he said. “It was good . . . meeting you.”

John put his hand out but after a second of Sherlock just watching him, he grabbed his hand and shook it. Mrs. Hudson stood up and hugged him. 

"It was nice meeting you, John."

John smiled and waved at both of them as he walked towards the door. 

“Will you be seeing him again?” Mrs Hudson asked Sherlock.

“I don’t see any reason why I would,” he said.

“I see,” she said suspiciously.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, reaching for her arm. “I think you’re overly tired.” He gave her a smile, and they headed out, finding a taxi to take them home to Baker Street.


	3. Work

In the morning John's alarm sounded like a train. He groaned as he turned it off, rolling onto his back and stretching. His mind drifted to the night before, to the man he'd brought up to his room. Then he wished he had some aspirin. He got up and cleaned up his things, though there weren't very many scattered around. He put them all into his bag before going into the bathroom for a shower. When he was feeling a little better he did one more sweep of the room and went to check out. 

From there he got a cab to the surgery. He couldn't have missed Molly's wedding, but he also had an interview this morning and he couldn't miss that either. He walked into the office and sat in the lobby, his bag beside him while he waited to be called. It wasn't long. The woman came out and led him into her office where they went over his resume and his experience. He was a bit over qualified, but he needed the job. He was charming, and she seemed to enjoy talking with him. When the interview was over he had a good feeling about it. He shook her hand and she made it linger a bit longer before letting him go. He hailed another cab outside of the clinic and finally headed back to his flat. 

When Sherlock woke up, his body aching. After a moment he remembered why. It’d been a long time since he’d done anything like that, but it’d been fine -- it was a wedding after all, ‘romance in the air’ as Mrs Hudson would say. He did have a bit of a headache, though. He got himself up from the bed and took himself straight to the shower.

Once he was clean, he felt a bit better. He took a cup of tea to his desk and began searching the newspapers for possible cases. It didn’t take long to find a few possibilities, so he called Lestrade at Scotland Yard to remind him of his existence. He wasn’t in, which annoyed Sherlock. He wanted to work on some real cases. 

When John returned, he unpacked his bag and put everything away. His flat was small but if everything went okay with this new job maybe he could move into something a little better. Everything would be easier then -- he could be closer to work and to things that were much more interesting than this boring bedsit. It was so boring around here. He got up again and went to the computer. He sat and stared at the screen for a while. He felt stupid, but he was just curious. That was all. In the search bar he typed Sherlock and then watched the cursor blinking. Oh. He'd never gotten Sherlock's last name. He hit the return button anyways and waited -- how common could that name be?

He looked at the results -- there's weren't very many. Most of them referred to some website about science deduction. John clicked on it and started to scroll through it. The site was very scientific. Even as a doctor John was bored to death reading it. There was a list of tobaccos ash -- over two hundred! He shook his head and clicked out of the site. That couldn't be the man he met. This man was . . . boring. He kept looking, but there wasn’t much else.

Sherlock spent the next few days not doing much at all, but then Lestrade stopped by to talk to him about a case. However, talk was really all he wanted. Sherlock did his best to impress upon the Lestrade how much more help he could offer.

As Lestrade got up to leave, he quickly asked, “So have you called him?”

“Called who?”

“The guy from the wedding . . . sorry, I was just chatting to Mrs Hudson who might have mentioned something about it . . .”

Sherlock couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or angry. Then he realised he was both. “Please don’t listen to that woman,’ he said. “She’s mad really.”

“Right,” Lestrade said awkwardly. “Well, thanks again.”

“Call me soon,” Sherlock said and then realised what that sounded like. He closed the door and then grabbed his phone to clarify by text.

_For a case. SH_

He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity and threw his phone onto the sofa.

John was called for the job and started working right away. It was boring work, but it was busy and it kept his day moving along. The woman who hired him usually stopped into his office for a chat. He could tell that she was flirting, but he hadn't decided what he wanted to do about that.  
By the end of the week he agreed to go out for a drink when they closed the surgery. She was easy to talk to. They tried to stay away from talking about work. They talked about school and their training. John told her a bit about his plan to move closer to work. It was a fun night. At the end as they waited for her taxi, she leaned in and kissed him. John pulled back.

"I'm sorry,” she said. “I thought . . .”

"No, it’s fine," he said quickly. "It’s just . . . I've just got out of a relationship," he said. The lie came out before he could even think about what he was saying. "I thought it would be good to get out, but maybe I wasn't ready."

"Oh,” she said. “Still friends?”

John nodded, and they exchanged a slightly awkward good night. John waited until she was inside to hail a cab back to his own flat. As the car sped through traffic, John took out his phone and texted a real friend.

_Hope you’re enjoying the honeymoon. We should get lunch when you come back. -JW_

At Baker Street, Mrs Hudson was shouting at Sherlock. “If you’re not working, why can’t you help me?” she asked.

“I am working,” Sherlock said angrily.

“In your dressing gown?”

Sherlock humphed and stood up to go to his desk. “I’m thinking,” he said. “That is work.”

“Right,” she said, glancing around. “That’s why you’ve been too busy to tidy, I see,” she said, grabbing some newspapers from the sofa and crumpling them up. She looked over at the kitchen and sighed. “I will clean this up once, but after that, you’re on your own,” she said as she made her way over to start the washing up.

Sherlock said nothing as he sat down to pout.

“Speaking of that,” she said. “If you’ve got free time . . .”

“What?” Sherlock interrupted. “I don’t have free time -- as I said, I’m working.”

“I’ve not seen Greg here at all,” she said.

“Greg who?” 

“You know who I’m talking about,” she said, glancing over. “Has he finally given you a proper case then?”

“No,” Sherlock mumbled.

“So you’ve figured out how to drum up your own business then?”

“No,” he mumbled again.

She turned back to the sink. “Fine,” she said. “When I’ve finished cleaning up your mess, you can come downstairs and help me.”

Sherlock said nothing, but eventually he did as he was told. Once that task was finished, he came back to the flat and flopped onto the sofa. He thought about what she’d said, about being on his own. She’d said it like it was a bad thing. It wasn’t, he preferred it. He’d be perfectly fine if he could just get some cases. He’d keep himself working and busy and satisfied. But he knew that cases involved other people and they were letting him down. See? he thought as he carried on this ridiculous argument in his head. It’s other people who were the problem, not him. If he could just get some cases he’d be fine. And if he ever had that other urge for people . . . well, he’d figure that out when it happened again.

This thought led him to the last time, the man at Molly’s wedding. It was nothing, just a bit of fun really. And it was fun. It felt good. Actually, he remembered, he didn’t even need someone else for that feeling. He stood up to lock the flat door and then lay back down, slipping his hand into his pajama bottoms. He’d just do it to clear his mind, to relax. When it was over, the tension would be gone and he could get up, go to his desk, and figure out how to get his own cases.

But that’s not what he did. When he finished, he fell asleep for an hour and then for some reason, he found himself on Molly’s Facebook face, scrolling through her list of friends.

Sherlock wasted the night and next day getting himself lost in Molly’s social media. She knew a lot of men named John, but none of them was the right John. He could tell by Molly’s photos she wasn’t back in London yet, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask her anyway.

“Sherlock Holmes!” Mrs Hudson shouted from the other side of the flat door.

He immediately shut his computer and stood up to let her in.

“Have you even got dressed since I last saw you?” she asked. “Or are you going to claim you’ve been ‘working’ too much to clean yourself up?”

Before Sherlock could answer, she looked him straight in the eye and said, “You need to get yourself together. I thought at the wedding, you were making progress . . . look, it doesn’t matter. Lock yourself up in the flat, waste your precious time waiting for work, whatever -- I’m not going to interfere. It’s not my job to look after you.” She turned and stomped down the stairs.

He knew he should go after her, thank her for all the help because she had given him so much. But he didn’t. Instead he went back to his computer and sent Lestrade an email. It wasn’t much, but Mrs Hudson was right: he had to do something useful.


	4. Molly's Help

Work was busier than John expected it to be. The surgery was small but every day he came in it was packed. By the end of the week he was mentally exhausted -- he'd forgotten what it was like seeing patients like this. Molly had called and they met up for lunch on Saturday.

She couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear. She showed John pictures on her phone as she told him about the trip. After a while John didn't care too much about the pictures, but he let her keep going because he had never seen her like this. When their food came she finally put her phone away and asked about him. He told her about his new job and his need for new living arrangements.

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" she asked. "A flat? I think I know of a flat share right in the perfect place."

"I don’t know that I’d be able to afford ‘perfect place’ prices," he said.

"You can, the woman that owns it . . . well, you'll see. I'll text you the address later." They went back to their lunches and more honeymoon talk.

By Monday, Sherlock’s usefulness had paid off and Lestrade had a case for him -- well, not a case but a task and that was good enough for now. He’d put in a request with Molly for some skin cell samples and made his way over to see her.

Mrs Hudson had reminded him to say something nice to her about the wedding, but this time Sherlock didn’t need prompting: she looked happier than he’d ever seen her so he told her that.

“Thanks,” she said, blushing a little. “I am happy, Sherlock. I had a beautiful wedding, a lovely honeymoon and now I’m married to a wonderful man for the rest of my life.”

He nodded to her, but he didn’t know what to say. 

“Anyway, let me get the samples for you,” she said, disappearing for a moment and then returning with a small cooler. Sherlock opened it quickly to check the contents.

“I appreciate your coming to the wedding,” she said softly. “I hope it wasn’t too horrible for you -- I know you don’t like that kind of thing.”

“It was fine,” he mumbled and then realised that probably wasn’t enough. He glanced over. “It was good, and you looked very beautiful.”

“Anything you want to ask me?” she offered. “About the wedding, I mean?”

He stopped but didn’t turn his head to look at her. There was something in her voice . . . she was leading him somewhere. To John? Maybe. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk embarrassment if he was wrong, or if he even wanted someone else knowing about their little ‘adventure.’ Besides, he had work now. It’d just be easier to focus on that. “Pardon?” he asked stupidly.

She smiled at him and then changed the topic. “Will those work for your experiment?” she asked.

“Yes, they’re just what I need.”

“Will you be working on it tonight, do you think? At the flat?” she asked.

He glanced over at her. “Yes, I imagine so,” he said. He closed up the cooler and thanked her once again before leaving.

As soon as he was out the door, she grabbed her phone and sent a text to John.

_Sorry, I forgot to send this on Saturday. The address for the flat is 221B Baker Street. The owner said you could go have a look round today after work if you’re available. Molly_

_Okay, great. I'll go after work. Anything I need to know? -JW_

_No. The owner is expecting you. -Molly_

John stuffed his phone into his pocket. He was skeptical. The flat wasn't very far at all, but it had to be expensive. Still, Molly knew the woman and she was expecting him, so when he finished for the day, he headed to Baker Street. 

Sherlock had begun work immediately after getting back. He was in the flow and feeling very good. Especially after he kicked Mrs Hudson out of the flat. She’d come up to borrow some milk and had begun berating him for the mess he was making. He let her go for a few minutes, but she soon became too distracting, so he made a comment about not being interested in her complaints about laziness and now her complaints about work, sending her downstairs with a bottle of milk and the hope he’d be able to focus for the rest of the evening.

When John arrived, he knocked loudly. A few seconds later the door opened and Mrs. Hudson was standing there. 

"John! What are you doing here?"

Now John understood -- Molly and Mrs Hudson were friends. Still, would she really offer a discount to a friend of a friend?

"Molly said there was a room available. A flat share?" he said.

"She..." Mrs. Hudson trailed off and fought off a smile as she glanced up the stairs. "Yes, she's right. Come on in," she said, moving to let him in. 

"This is a great spot, how much does it go for?" John asked. 

"Oh, we'll sort that after you see the place and decide. Follow me," she said, starting up the stairs. John followed her. She knocked on the door and heard someone moving around up in the flat.

“I’m still working,” Sherlock called from the other side.

“Open the door,” she said sternly. “There’s someone here to look at the flat.”

Sherlock opened the door. “You’re kicking me out?” he asked.

“I am not,” she said and stepped to the side, pushing John toward the door. “He’s thinking of moving in,” she added before quickly moving down the stairs.

Sherlock looked at John. John looked at Sherlock. “I don’t know what this is about,” Sherlock said. “But I suppose you should come in.” He turned as his brain quickly tried to process what was happening. What was Mrs Hudson doing?

John walked into the flat and didn't know what to look at first. The place was kind of a mess -- books, newspapers, beakers and solutions, just general clutter everywhere.

“I was working,” Sherlock said, a little defensively. “I’m afraid I don’t know what Mrs Hudson is talking about . . . you want to live here?”

"I’ve got a new job and wanted to move closer . . . Molly told me there was available here," he said. "I think she tricked me -- I didn't know you lived here," he clarified.

“Molly?” Sherlock asked with genuine surprise. He opened his mouth to say something else, but wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. After what seemed like minutes but was probably just a few seconds, he said, “Cup of tea?”

"Sure," John said. He followed Sherlock into the kitchen and paused. "What's all this?" he asked, motioning to the mess. 

“I’m working on an experiment -- skin cells,” Sherlock said. He poured the tea and passed a cup to John. “I suppose we should sit down,” he said, nodding back toward the sitting room.

"Okay," John said. He followed Sherlock and sat with him on the sofa. "Were there cells in this cup?" he asked.

“No, I kept that one safe,” Sherlock said. He glanced around. “I wasn’t expecting a guest obviously.”

John looked around again. "I'm sorry. I feel like I've intruded. I was told a flat was available and that the owner was expecting me -- I didn't mean to barge in like this," he said.

“I’m not sure what Molly was thinking or if Mrs Hudson was somehow involved,” Sherlock said. “I’m not sure what to think.” He took a sip of tea and realised that was his completely honest response. “How have you been doing?” he asked. “Since we met, I mean.”

"I've been fine, yeah. I got a job actually, at the surgery not far from here. How have you been?"

“A surgery?” Sherlock asked with a smile.

John nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That's why I've been looking for a flat that's closer."

“So the flat thing is real . . .” Sherlock said. “Well, this is my flat.”

John looked around the room again. It really was very messy. "It’s . . . an interesting space," he said, looking over at Sherlock again. "Um, what do you do exactly? I found your website but I didn't really understand."

“The flat is interesting -- interesting is good,” Sherlock said. “I’m a consulting detective. I solve cases.”

John nodded. "And the skin cells?" he asked. 

“An experiment -- in between cases,” Sherlock said. “Would having skins cells in your flat be a problem for you?”

"I don't think so," John said. 

“I’m not looking for a flatmate -- I’m sorry you were misled,” Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. “Wouldn’t that have been a bit awkward anyway? What with . . . the way we met?”

"I suppose so," John said. It seemed their one night would be just that, like he suspected from the start. And moving in with your one night stand? Sherlock was right. It would be weird. "I should go. I'm sorry about the mix up,” he said.

“I don’t think you should go,” Sherlock said. “We’re just talking . . . no need to go.” He gave John a minute to settle back. “That said . . . there is an extra bedroom in the flat. Not being used for anything . . .”

John's brows raised a bit. "But it would be awkward. You said so yourself," he said.

“If you knew me well, you’d know I find most things awkward,” Sherlock said. “You said the location suited you.”

"The location is great," John said. 

“I confess my payment to Mrs Hudson is not always consistent, with your new job, you’d be able to contribute something to the rent on a regular basis?”

John nodded. "Yeah, of course I can," he said. 

“Perhaps you should see the bedroom,” Sherlock said. “Of course this is all hypothetical, but it is right there, seems silly not to go look at it.” He motioned to the stairs.

John set his mug down and stood up. "Okay. I'll look at it," he said. 

“Help yourself,” Sherlock said, not getting up.

"Oh, okay," John said. He moved through the sitting room to the stairs, climbing up to the bedroom. He walked in and looked around. It was nice -- bigger than his room now. He moved around. He didn't have much; this would be plenty of space. He came out and made his way down to the sitting room again. "It’s a nice room," he said. 

“It is,” Sherlock said. “Mine’s there,” he added pointing past the kitchen. “If you were going to move -- again, hypothetically speaking -- would you be expecting . . . us to replay what happened at Molly’s wedding?”

John looked over at Sherlock. "I don't know. I suppose that's the awkward part," he said. "Would you want to?" 

“I’d like to know if you’d be expecting it,” Sherlock said. “I might be interested . . . but an interest is not the same as an expectation.”

"I wouldn’t expect it,” John said before taking a sip of tea. “But it was good.”

“It was good,” Sherlock said, giving John a sly smile. “Which is why I might be interested. However, I’m aware that frequently people who did what we did also do other things . . . like spend every moment of the day together or nag each other or want clear answers to every single question asked. Any thoughts on those things?”

John licked his lips. "Going from a one night stand to living together?” he said. “Seems like we’d be skipping a few important steps.

“Hypothetically living together, you mean,” Sherlock said. “I’m not quite sure of the steps, but if we were to live together, I think that would probably need to be that. I mean, I don’t doubt I was incredibly charming at Molly’s wedding, but you might not find me as charming on a regular basis. Perhaps tolerating each other should be the level of expectation we should both agree to.”

John nodded. "A clean slate,” he said.

“That might help with awkwardness,” Sherlock said. “Let’s change the topic for a moment. Why do you think Molly did this?”

"I think she was trying to set us up," John answered honestly. 

“Does that mean you told her about what happened?” Sherlock asked. “I’d assumed you’d be using some discretion.”

"I didn't tell her," John said quickly. "But you know how friends are sometimes."

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Sherlock said. “Again, my behaviour at the wedding is not indicative of my normal life. I don’t have friends. Except Mrs Hudson, I guess, but we don’t need to tell her that.”

John smiled. "Well, sometimes they like to think they know what's best for you and they act on it."

“And do you agree -- would moving in here with me be the best for you?” Sherlock asked. “Think carefully.”

"It’s close to work, it might be cheaper than my place now, and you're not a complete stranger. And . . . I’m desperate.”

“We would need to ask Mrs Hudson,” he said. “She’d have the final say.”

"Okay," John said. "Right now?"

“I suppose so,” Sherlock said. He set his mug down. “Let’s go.” As they walked down, he asked, “Will you have a lot to move?”

John shook his head. "Not really," he said. 

“When do you want to do it?” Sherlock said. “Perhaps soon, before either of us comes to our senses.”

"I work tomorrow, but I can do it after that. Or this weekend," he said. 

Sherlock knocked on the door. Mrs Hudson appeared seconds later. 

“Have you been standing there waiting the whole time?” he asked her.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. She glanced at John. “Nice to see you again, John.”

“That’s as maybe, Mrs Hudson. We’re here to see if you’d allow John to rent the second bedroom upstairs,” Sherlock said. “You’ve mentioned you’d like to see me with a flatmate and Dr . . .” He stopped abruptly and turned to John. “What’s your surname?”

"Huh? Oh, Watson," he said. "John Watson."

“Dr Watson is duly employed with regular paychecks, if you’re concerned about that.”

Mrs Hudson looked at Sherlock. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked.

“I am not,” he said. 

She looked at John. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked him.

"Maybe," John said. He glanced over at Sherlock and smiled. 

“Well, I have literally no idea where the copy of the lease is, so why don’t you try it for a month and by then I’ll have located it and if you are both still alive and willing, we can sign it then?” she proposed.

"Okay," John said. "I suppose that'll be okay."

“I agree,” Sherlock said to Mrs Hudson. “What now?” he asked John.

"I have to work in the morning. Maybe I should go now that we've sorted all this?" 

Sherlock noticed Mrs Hudson smiling, so he turned away from her toward the stairs. “Let’s go back up first,” he said.

He led them back into the flat. "Should I do something here to prepare? I mean, should I move things around?" he asked.

John looked around the sitting room again. "It’s a bit cluttered," he said

“Right,” Sherlock said. “Well, that may or may not change -- or rather that could be something you do if you care about it being too cluttered because I don’t care about it.”

John blinked at him and then looked away. "Uh, right," he said. "That's a bit blunt. But yeah, I'll sort it."

“Changed your mind already?” Sherlock asked. “I said I was mid-experiment -- it won’t be quite as bad when I’ve finished. I should be able to finish tonight.”

"I haven't changed my mind," John said. "But I do think I’ll go now.”

“All right,” Sherlock said. “Well, this was a very unusual visit,” he added as the moved to the door.

John nodded. "Yes," he said. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow."

“Right,” Sherlock said. He leaned forward, lifting his hand to John’s lower back. “Sorry,” he said, stepping to the side.

"It's okay," John said, his cheeks flushed lightly. "See you."

As soon as he was out on the pavement, John looked up at the flat. He didn't know what he had just agreed to -- he hardly knew this man and now he was going to move in with him. It was wild. But they weren't signing anything and if it didn't work out . . . well, maybe he’d keep looking for flats just in case. 

Sherlock shut the door and leaned against it. He was going to need a little time to process this. However, first, he had to finish this experiment. He’d invested too much effort and time to abandon it now, and there was no use trying to figure out the experiment and the predicament with John at the same time. It would be distracting and inefficient.

However, within the hour, Mrs Hudson was at the door. He opened it, but didn’t welcome her in.

“Are you sure?” she asked him.

“About the experiment?” he asked.

“No, of course not! About John!” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No -- maybe, no . . . not now,” Sherlock said. “I want to finish this experiment. Tomorrow things are likely to be quite different -- let me finish this before things change. Don’t make me immediately regret what I’ve done.”

She gave him a little smile. “All right,” she said. “Come get me if you want to talk about your feelings.” She pulled a face at him, turned, and went back downstairs.

Sherlock stood still for a moment. He wondered if Mrs Hudson would be even assuming feelings mattered if he and John hadn’t shared what they shared at Molly’s wedding. He didn’t know what to make of that, but at the moment, he wanted to finish his work.


	5. John Moves In

The next morning John went to work and asked for a half day. At lunch he would go back to his flat, finish up his packing ,and then head over to Sherlock's. He was still a bit weary about this idea. Somehow it would be easier if Sherlock was a complete stranger, but he wasn’t. Not really. He didn't know what to think or feel about it all. 

Sherlock had finished the experiment, though much later than he’d originally expected to, given the interruption of John’s visit. He left the mess to deal with in the morning, so when he did wake up on the sofa where he’d crashed out, his first step was to tidy up. But he couldn’t separate this from the fact that he’d agreed John should move in. He sensed, as he cleaned, that he was cleaning for John -- which was stupid, cleaning up was part of every experiment. He knew that could no longer put off thinking about the change.

He even considered speaking to Mrs Hudson or Molly, but he was relatively sure he could guess what each would say. He also knew that both would be disappointed if he called John to say he’d changed his mind. Sherlock didn’t like admitting it, but both women’s opinions did matter to him. He knew that all he could do was to see how this played out.

At midday he opened a text to John.

_Are you still interested in the arrangement we discussed? If so, please advise me your plans. SH_

He stared at the message for a moment and then sent it.

_I've just left work to go get my things. I was just about to message you. -JW_

So John hadn’t changed his mind, Sherlock thought, not entirely sure how he’d have felt if John had. He wasn’t particularly keen to help John move, but felt like it was expected that he would. If he did, though, would John start expecting him to help with everything? That felt worrying. He tried to find a middle ground.

_Shall I send a taxi to your flat so you can bring things over? SH_

_No, it’s not much. I'll get a cab when I'm ready. -JW_

Sherlock felt slightly annoyed -- he’d done something nice to no avail. He got up, made a cup of tea and went to the window to smoke a cigarette. This wasn’t going to work if he had unnecessary reactions to everything John did or didn’t do. Was he just looking for something to be annoyed by? That was a bit stupid.

_Let me know if you change your mind. I will be in all afternoon whenever you want to come. SH_

John packed up the last of his things and took the few boxes down outside. He did a final sweep of the flat and then went back out to hail a cab. Once they loaded everything and he got inside, he took out his phone. 

_I've just left. Maybe you can help me bring a couple boxes up? -JW_

Sherlock had opened the windows in the spare bedroom and tried to tidy a little elsewhere in the flat, while being mindful not to appear too accommodating as to mislead. When he got John’s text, he sent a quick reply, setting out two mugs on the worktop before heading down to meet the taxi.

John saw Sherlock on the kerb when the cab pulled up. He got out and smiled at Sherlock before he started taking out the boxes. "I told you, there's not very much," he said. "Thanks for helping."

Sherlock was surprised to see that John hadn’t been lying. He picked up a few boxes and walked to the door, holding it open for John. “Is this all of it?” he asked.

John nodded. "That's all of it," he said. 

“Interesting,” Sherlock said as he followed John upstairs. “Where should I put these?” he asked once they got inside the flat.

"My room, for now.”

Sherlock put the boxes down on the bed. “I’ll make tea,” he said. “Come down if you’d like some.” He headed to the kitchen and started the kettle.

"Okay," John said, starting to put his things away.

Sherlock poured two mugs and carried them into the sitting room. He sat on the sofa to wait. The flat felt a bit different already.

After sorting his clothes John made his way down. 

“Here’s your tea,” Sherlock said. “Everything all right up there?”

John took the mug from Sherlock and sat on the sofa beside him. "Yes, it’s fine." He looked around the room. "I see you moved some things -- I appreciate it," he said.

“Well, I thought I should,” Sherlock said. “I’ve never been a flatmate -- I don’t know quite what they’re supposed to do.”

John chuckled softly. "Well, it’s easy," he said. 

“You might want to withhold that judgment for a week or two,” Sherlock said. “So what do we do now? Or am I not supposed to ask?”

"Well, we don't have to do anything, really. You can stick to your usual routine. I am going to take a shower in a bit," he said.

“Do you always take showers in the evening?”

"It depends. Sometimes I do it before work. I didn't today, so I will tonight."

“Is there anything you always do at a certain that I, as a flatmate, should be aware of?” Sherlock asked.

"Not really," he said. "What about you?"

Obviously Sherlock had thought about this already, but had decided that perhaps it might be better for some of his living habits to be discovered when they occurred. “I don’t keep regular sleeping hours,” he said. “And while it won’t be my intention, I cannot guarantee that you won’t be disturbed at some point.”

John nodded. "I don't sleep well as it is, so you don't have to worry about that," he said. 

“Sleeping problems?” Sherlock asked. “Perhaps I should know about that.”

John shrugged. "I just have nightmares, sometimes. That's all."

“And what do you do when this happens? Should I expect to . . . help in some way?” Sherlock asked, wondering if he could even if he wanted to.

"What? Oh no," John said. "You probably won't even know it’s happening. It’s fine," he said. 

Sherlock glanced over. “Is it a secret?” he asked, seeing some shame on John’s face.

"Hmm?" John asked as if he hadn't heard the question. He didn't know Sherlock well enough to get into his personal business, so he sipped his tea instead. 

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, filing the detail away for later. “Do you work tomorrow?” he asked.

"I do," he said. "Do you have an experiment or detective work tomorrow?" 

“No,” Sherlock sighed. “I don’t have any cases right now . . . hopefully, something horrible will happen to someone soon and I’ll get a call.”

John laughed. "Well, that’s an interesting approach." He looked over at Sherlock and smiled. "I need to shower," he announced, getting up to take his mug to the sink. "Is it down this hall?" he asked, pointing off the kitchen. 

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “The hot water takes a moment to get started . . . everything else is quite obvious.”

"Okay. I'll be back in a bit." He went up and got his toiletries and his dressing gown. He went into the bathroom and shut the door. He wanted to look around, but he didn't. He started the water and waited a few minutes before checking it and getting in. 

Sherlock waited until he heard the water start and then got up from his seat, going upstairs and standing outside the spare bedroom. He looked inside. The room did not look very different. John’s empty bags were on the bed, there was a book on the bedside table. He stepped in and glanced at the book’s cover. Treasure Island. Odd choice. He went back downstairs, sitting at his desk and opening his laptop to check in with Scotland Yard.

John took a quick shower, shaved his face, and then went to grab his things when he realised he didn't have to. It was his bathroom too now. He cleaned up and left everything in its place before heading out for the stairs.

Sherlock looked up when John passed through the room, but John didn’t acknowledge him. He watched him disappear into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Their night at the hotel flashed in his mind, and for a moment, Sherlock thought about going up after him. But he didn’t. He shook away the memory and tried to turn his attention back to the computer.

John moved around his room, rearranging things so it would feel more comfortable. He didn't know how he liked everything yet in this new room. He found his clock radio in one of the boxes and put it next to the bed, fiddling until he tuned into some music. 

Sherlock read through his Inbox which had nothing of interest. He kept watching for John to come back down, but he didn’t. He slid his phone from his pocket.

_Am I supposed to be waiting for you? SH_

He heard the noise of a notification and realised John’s phone was downstairs near the door. He got up and went into his bedroom, lying down on his bed. It felt strange having someone in the flat but still being on his own. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. 

He thought about the wedding. He’d enjoyed talking to John, he’d made the whole night so much more enjoyable. He’d enjoyed dancing with him. And the rest of it as well. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about that now. He tried to concentrate on the talking part. He’d assumed that maybe there would be talking if John moved in. In fact, he was surprised to realise he’d actually been looking forward to that. He got up again and made some tea. He glanced up to John’s room. The door was still shut but he could hear him moving around. He poured two mugs and carried them upstairs, using his knee to knock on the door.

John looked over at the door. He turned down the radio a bit and retied his dressing gown before opening the door. "Oh, hi," he said. "Sorry if the music was too loud." He took the mug from Sherlock and put it on top of the dresser. 

Sherlock looked at John. How was he not supposed to think about that night with John looking so incredibly handsome with his wet hair and relaxed face? How could John seem so relaxed when Sherlock felt so . . . what did he feel? He took a sip of tea and tried to speak. “Everything all right?” he asked. 

"Oh, yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, everything is good. The water took a while, like you said. But it was fine. I left my stuff by the sink, hopefully its not in the way." He smiled at Sherlock. "I've just been organising my things. I feel comfortable here," he added. 

“Good,” Sherlock said. “Yes, it’s good.” He took another sip of tea. “Do you need any help with anything?”

"I don't think so," John said, looking around the room. "It’s just a matter of settling in." 

“It might take a little while, but so far so good,” Sherlock said, wondering if he was trying to reassure John or himself. “So . . . is this what you normally do after work? Have a shower and then listen to music?”

"It depends," he said. "My routine might change a little but now that I'm not alone. "

“What do you mean, you’re not alone?”

"In the flat. You live here too," he smiled. 

“Right,” Sherlock said. “Do you ever go out?”

John thought about that. He used to enjoy it, but it had been a long time. "Sometimes," he answered. "I used to go out a lot more than I have lately."

“I don’t go out,” Sherlock said to clarify, even though John hadn’t asked him the question. He took a gulp of tea. “Tomorrow . . . when you get home, should I do anything? I mean, should we?”

"What? Go out for dinner?" John asked. 

“No, not go out dinner,” Sherlock said. “I meant -- why? Do you want to go out? We could go out I guess.”

John tilted his head a bit. He didn't know what Sherlock was asking for. Did he just want to hang out? It was odd, the rules of a flatmate. Some people hung out and became friends, others lived separate lives. "We don't have to be strangers, you know? We can be friends and hang out--" He cut off as the radio started to static. He moved closer and was about to turn it off when it kicked on again, playing music again. 

Sherlock moved toward John, reaching from behind to grab one hand. He turned him around and grabbed the other hand, stepping closer and beginning to dance with him. “Remember when we danced?” he said softly, not sure if he should regret this.

“Sherlock --” John said, surprised. Then he felt a slice of heat cut through his body. He allowed himself to dance with Sherlock. "I remember," he nodded. "It was nice."

“It was,” Sherlock said. They moved together for a few minutes. “This is, too.”

John nodded. 

Sherlock slipped a hand to John’s lower back, pulling him even closer. “This okay?” he asked.

John nodded, squeezing his hand lightly.

“Mrs Hudson put clean sheets on your bed,” Sherlock whispered.

John closed his eyes. "We don’t need to act like there's not something here . . .something between us..." he said. 

“You are definitely different,” Sherlock said. “I’m not usually like this but . . .” He pressed his lips against John’s neck.

John tilted his head a bit, moaning softly. "Lucky me..." he said.

“I hope so, John,” Sherlock said. “I don’t know what I’m doing . . . as a flatmate, I mean,” he added with a smile. He leaned in and kissed John’s mouth. Memories of Molly’s wedding came back and the kiss grew with urgency.

John pushed up a bit to return the kiss with equal need, his body pressing against Sherlock's. They were no longer dancing. 

Sherlock could feel himself starting to get excited as they pressed together. He pulled open John’s dressing gown, letting his hands explore John’s back, still warm from his shower. John started tugging and pushing his clothes from his body, kissing him harder. Sherlock stepped back and quickly slid his trousers off. He turned John and pushed him back onto the bed, dropping on top of his before finding his mouth again.

John carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "Don't know why we tried to fight this," he murmured. 

“Because I’m difficult and you’re sensible,” Sherlock said. He shifted a little lower, moving his mouth down to one of John’s hip bones. He traced his tongue over the contours as his hand began stroking John’s cock again. Eventually he began sucking the head as he began to massage his balls. He took his time -- there was no rush because it was just them and it could be just them in this flat for as long as they wanted. 

"It feels good," John murmured. 

Sherlock lifted his head and moved down to nip at his thighs. “You taste good,” he mumbled. “What do you want now?”

"I want you again."

“Do you have what we need somewhere in this room?” Sherlock asked. His hand went to his own cock to stroke himself impatiently.

"Yes, in the drawer," he pointed. 

“Did you bring them . . . for this?” Sherlock asked. “It doesn’t matter . . . don’t tell me.” He reached into the drawer and grabbed the bottle and handed it to John. He kissed John on the mouth. “Hurry . . .”

John moved over Sherlock and poured a bit of lube on him, starting with one finger and quickly moving up to two.

Sherlock made a small groan at John’s touch. It felt good, just like that night, only better because he knew John and liked him and John lived here now with him. Which was strange but at the moment felt all right. He opened his eyes to look down at John and then up at the ceiling. He’d never looked at the ceiling in here before. He wondered if he’d be looking at it again. Or if John would see the ceiling in his bedroom. There was so much that was new, but he closed his eyes and concentrated on how good it felt.

John rolled on the condom. He leaned over Sherlock, kissing him again as he pushed into him. 

Sherlock groaned at John’s movement, but lifted his hands quickly to hold John’s head, keeping the kiss going. Then he slid his hand between their bodies to stroke himself again. Every nerve was on fire, and his body felt tight and hot.

John moved his hips steadily, moaning and panting into the kisses. 

“It’s good,” Sherlock mumbled. His body was sliding against the bed with each of John’s movements. He bent his knees to push his legs against the mattress so he could follow John’s rhythm. Then suddenly, he stutter, “I’m going to come.” When his orgasm hit, his body arched and his legs squeezed around John’s.

John groaned as Sherlock's body squeezed around him. He moaned and pushed deep, calling Sherlock’s name as he came.

Sherlock held tightly onto him. When their bodies stopped moving, he relaxed a little, turning his head to the side. “I like when you call my name,” he said softly.

“Good,” John said with a satisfied grin.

“I’m sorry I started this up,” Sherlock said. “Well, I’m not sorry actually, but I want you to know that I didn’t expect this to happen . . . I don’t expect it to keep happening if you or we decide it shouldn’t.” He hadn’t looked at John yet, worried he shouldn’t have acted on impulse in a way he couldn’t run away from like usual.

"I'm not sorry. If we like this we should keep doing it. We can worry about what it means after," John said. 

Sherlock turned his head and looked at him. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, though,” he said. “Just a bit of an adventure, yeah?”

John smiled and reached out to touch his face, but Sherlock kept talking. “We’ve made a mess of your bed, I’m afraid,” he said.

“That's all right," John said. "It was worth it."

Sherlock sat himself up a bit and reached for his clothes. "My body will have to get used to this . . . despite what you’ve seen of me, I don't actually do this very often," he said.

"Where are you going?" John asked. 

"Nowhere, I guess," Sherlock said. "I just want to put my clothes on." He slipped his arms into his shirt. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No. I thought you might want to lay with me for a while," he said. 

"I think I want to get up," Sherlock said. "And go downstairs -- you can come with me . . . I just want to get up."

John looked over at him. "Okay. I'll be down in a bit," he said. 

Sherlock stood up and slipped on his trousers. He looked at John. "You'll come down, yeah?" he asked for no real reason.

John nodded. "I'm just going to clean up a bit. I'll be down."

"All right, good," Sherlock said. He went downstairs and looked around the sitting room. It seemed unusual now, the flat felt different even though there was nothing different down here. He realised he'd left his mug upstairs so he found another one and put the kettle on. He went into the bathroom while he waited for it to boil. He considered taking a shower, but instead just washed his face and headed back out, pouring himself a cup of tea which he took to the sofa. It seemed awkward and quiet again, so he turned on the television to the news.

John put on his pajamas and then came out to join Sherlock. He sat on the sofa, close enough to cuddle if Sherlock wanted to. 

“We don’t have to watch this,” Sherlock said, handing him the remote.

"I don't mind," John said, handing it back to Sherlock. 

“Want a cup of tea?” Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "No, I'm okay for now."

“All right -- let me know if you change your mind,” Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea. “Do you work tomorrow?”

"I do," John said. "What about you?"

“I hope so,” Sherlock said.

"What do you mean? You don't know?" 

“I’m waiting,” Sherlock said. “I don’t have many clients on my own, well I’ve had a few but the cases have been . . . ludicrous. I have helped the police a few times, but I need them to call me for something . . . big.”

"Because they only call you for something big or you'll only work for something big?" he asked. 

“I do whatever ridiculous task they offer, but most have been basically meaningless,” Sherlock explained. He glanced over at John. “I want to work on a big case,” he said. “Because I can. I know I can solve it. I can solve anything.” He looked back at the TV.

"Well, hopefully they will call you for one soon.”

“I hope so,” Sherlock said. “Quite frankly, I’d be happy to bypass the police altogether, but I don’t know how to get real cases myself. I’ve got a website, but everyone who’s contacted me has been so . . . boring.”

John smiled. "I saw your website. I don't think its the best way to attract clients," he said. 

“What’s that supposed to be mean?” Sherlock said, setting his mug down and turning on the sofa to look at John.

"It’s not . . . readable. I mean for civilians," he said. 

“For idiots, you mean?”

“No, I just think the average person would find it . . . boring. And might not understand what your work is.”

“You mean you think it’s boring?”

"I don't -- well, yes, kind of." John admitted. "I know science though, so I understood it. I don't think the average person would’ve. And I would have never guessed you were a detective from it," he said. 

“Perhaps you are an idiot,” Sherlock said. “I invite you into my home and do that . . .” he said nodding toward the stairs. “With you and you insult me like that?” He gave him a little smile. “Honesty is usually my policy, so I suppose I appreciate yours.” He reached round and picked up his mug again. “But the website is smart. I don’t want to change it. Do you have any other recommendations, Mr Know It All?”

"I think you need to tell people about the cases you solve, show them what you can do," John said. 

“That’s not how I work,” Sherlock said. “I solve cases, I don’t tell people about solving cases. Well, I know I just told you about it, but you’re . . . different.”

“Maybe I could write about them. I have a blog," John said. 

Sherlock raised his eyebrow with curiosity. “What kind of blog?” he asked.

"It’s nothing really. I've barely started it," he said casually. 

“What do you write about?”

"I'm supposed to write about my life and things that happen to me. I haven't started yet," he said. 

“You’re supposed to? Says who?”

John looked at Sherlock. "My therapist," he admitted after a beat. 

“I see,” Sherlock said, looking down. He took a sip of his tea even though it was now cold. “What’s that all about, then? PTSD?” he asked softly.

John was surprised and looked away from him. Sherlock did seem to be able to figure things out. "I had to see a therapist when I came back from the war. I had a very painful limp and . . . stress. She thought a blog would help me assimilate. I was angry and bitter when I came back . . . I was shot, and I can't be a surgeon anymore."

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “That sounds . . . difficult.” 

John nodded. "That's what the nightmares are about," he said. He looked over at Sherlock again, trying to read the look on his face. Was Sherlock going to be annoyed? Show him pity? Look at him differently?

“If you have a nightmare, I could come up and . . . lie by you if you’d like,” Sherlock said quietly. “Like you wanted to earlier.”

John bit his lip. "Will we be sleeping in separate rooms?."

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Sherlock said honestly. “I hadn’t expected what happened upstairs to happen.” He looked over. “Is that what you want to do?”

"I think if we keep doing it I don't think anyone will want to move to a different room," he said. 

“Does that mean the answer is yes, you want us to sleep in the same room?” Sherlock asked. “I’m much better when people answer questions directly.”

John nodded. "I probably would want it," he said. 

“I can solve cases, John, but I am not very skilled at reading situations like this,” Sherlock said. “It would help if you would say things directly.” He paused for a moment. “I’m not saying I am refusing to sleep in the same room, but I would prefer if we could see how we feel each night.” He glanced over. “Would that be all right?”

John blinked at him. "Okay. We can sleep in separate rooms for now, and have some space."

“That doesn’t seem to describe what either of us just said we wanted,” Sherlock said. 

John sighed. “I really don’t know what you want me to say, Sherlock.”

“All right,” Sherlock said. He took his empty mug and set it balanced on John’s thigh.

John looked at the mug and then up at Sherlock. "Are you trying to trap me on the sofa?" he asked.

“I think I’m trying to be sweet,” Sherlock said. He looked over. “You can probably tell it doesn’t quite come naturally to me.”

John laughed and Sherlock relaxed a little. “Do you really think you could attract clients with your blog?” he asked.

John nodded. "I assume you've worked on some pretty exciting cases. That's what people like," he smiled. 

“I’ll have a think,” Sherlock said. “Thanks for the offer.”

He turned his attention back to the television. Hopefully, the awkwardness was over now, for a while at least. It was kind of nice having John to talk to and he had enjoyed what happened upstairs.


	6. An Interruption

A moment later Sherlock heard a knock downstairs, and Mrs Hudson’s door open and close. Then there were noises on the stairs, so he stood up and opened the flat’s door.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade said. “We need you.”

Immediately Sherlock’s head focused on nothing but that sentence. “Tell me,” he said.

Lestrade stepped into the flat and noticed Sherlock was not alone. “I’m sorry . . . am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“That’s John,” Sherlock said, his eyes still on Lestade. “Tell me,” he repeated.

John looked between them wondering who this was. 

The man looked at John again before saying, "We have another one. Another suicide."

“But you’re here,” Sherlock said. “So you believe me something else is happening?”

“I don’t know,” Lestrade said. “But why don’t you come with us this time just in case?”

“Excellent,” Sherlock said with a grin. He moved to grab his phone and said to John, “Come on, get dressed, we’re going out.”

"Me? I can wait here for you," John said.

“It’s a case, John -- we need to go now,” Sherlock said as if it were the most obvious thought in the world.

"You want me to go?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. “Come on.”

John rushed upstairs to get dressed.

“Who is he?” Lestrade asked cautiously.

“John,” Sherlock said, moving to grab his coat. He realised he’d already said that so added, “He’s a medical doctor. Could be some help.”

“It’s pain enough to have you there,” Lestrade said.

John changed quickly, and they headed downstairs to the police car. 

As they drove, Sherlock asked questions. He didn’t always wait for answers. He was thinking aloud. And he was very, very eager. John couldn't do anything but watch, hoping they would actually let him go inside. He was curious and excited. 

When they arrived at the scene, Sherlock rushed out of the cab, but did stop to lift the crime scene tape for John. Lestrade took them upstairs where Sherlock immediately began to inspect the body. He asked John a few questions and Lestrade a number more. He shouted the word “Pink!” and then he was gone.

For John, the whole thing had been a whirlwind. He’d watched Sherlock bent over the body, barely touching it, and then he watched Sherlock list an amazing amount of details about her before shouting and running off.

“You his friend then?” Lestrade asked John.

“Flatmate,” John said without giving himself a chance to really thinking about the question.

“Right,” Lestrade said. “He said you were a medical doctor -- mind if I ask you a couple questions about her?” he asked, nodding toward the body.

John did his best to offer his opinion and then left. Outside he didn't see Sherlock anywhere. 

"He's gone. He does that."

John looked over at the woman who was speaking to him. "Right," he said. He walked under the tape and to the street to hail a cab back to the flat. When he got to Baker Street, he found the flat empty. He didn't understand. Sherlock had invited him along and then had just left him. Had he asked just to be nice? John sighed and headed up to his room.

John pushed the door open and froze. Sherlock was in his bed, using his laptop. John stood there staring at him. 

“What took you so long?” Sherlock asked, looking up.

John didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He started taking his clothes off to get ready for bed. "You left me."

“I needed to try to find the suitcase,” Sherlock said.

John turned to look at him. "You left me," he said again. "Why did you even bring me if you weren’t going to let me help?" he asked. 

Sherlock looked over and recognised the expression that was on John’s face: he was hurt -- even though Sherlock hadn’t intended him to feel that way. In truth, he hadn’t even thought to grab John before he left -- he was on a case and solving it was what mattered. Except now John was here. And he knew that he’d been the one to convince John to come with him. It made Sherlock feel guilty but it also made him feel worried. Was he going to be able to do this? Was he going to be able to change his life to accommodate someone else? Even though Sherlock still hadn’t quite got his head around what he felt about John or precisely why he’d invited John to move in or even why he’d had sex with him again. But he did know one thing. John was clearly different; even if Sherlock wasn’t clear on how or why, he knew that was true. And that was going to mean that Sherlock couldn’t treat him as he treated others.

Finally, he said, “I didn’t think . . . I’m sorry . . .” He set the laptop to the side. “Do you want me to go to my room?” he asked quietly. 

John shook his head. "No," he said. "I know you've been doing this a long time. I shouldn't have tried to get in your way," he said, climbing into the bed. 

“No, John,” Sherlock said. “I wanted you to come. I wanted you to help, but I didn’t give you the chance.” He turned his head a little to avoid meeting John’s eyes. “I’m not good at this -- at thinking of others. That’s why I stay on my own. But you’re different . . . I don’t know why but I know you are.”

John’s anger eased. "Well, .we'll figure it out," he said. "You could just tell me what it is you want me to do if I come with you again."

“I’ll try,” Sherlock said, not entirely sure what that meant or if he could actually manage it. “Are you cross with me?”

John looked at him for a moment before shaking his head. "No," he said. "I got home okay," he smiled. 

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” Sherlock asked tentatively. “I want to go see the other bodies . . . I could use your medical expertise.”

John wasn’t sure if that were true or not. “All right, I’ll call work in the morning,” he said.

“Are you ready to go to sleep?” Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, I think I am,” he said. “It’s been an unusual night.” 

“An adventure,” Sherlock said. He closed his laptop and put it on the table next to the bed. He reached over and turned out the light and then lay flat at the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

John shifted under the covers and turned on his side. "Good night, Sherlock."

“Good night, John,” Sherlock said. He closed his eyes to go into his mind palace, but it was too full of questions he wanted answers to. He slowly shifted, rolling onto his side and curling around John. “Okay?” he whispered.

John nodded, holding Sherlock's hand in front of him. "Yes," he said. 

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments. “I found the suitcase,” he said quietly.

"Where was it?" John asked in the same quiet voice.

“A skip,” Sherlock said. “The tenth one I checked.”

John turned his head slightly. "Did you take it to the police? It’s evidence."

“Right," Sherlock said. "It's evidence which means it's useful to me. I will give it to them once I've finished." He pulled his head back a little but didn't let go of John.

"You can't keep evidence -- you'll be in trouble," he said. "You could call them and examine it at the station with them."

"Don't get yourself worked up -- I said I'll give it to them," Sherlock said. He lay there quietly for a few minutes. "You're not even slightly interested in what I found?" he asked quietly.

John glanced over his shoulder but didn't turn to look at him properly. He was silent for a few minutes. "Of course I want to know what you found," he admitted. 

Sherlock slid back closer to John and began explaining what he'd discovered and what it meant. "Obviously I will tell Lestrade," he said. "But I think we have a better chance of finding what we need."

"You should do the right thing -- you should do the right thing because it’s right but also because you want the police to keep working with you," John said. 

“I can tell you right now, John,” Sherlock said. “I do not always do the right thing.” 

They lay there in silence. 

Finally, John said, "But it is interesting, everything you learned just from a suitcase."

“Do you really think that?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "It’s amazing," he said. 

Sherlock found himself smiling. He pressed his mouth against the back of John’s neck, which he realised meant he was giving him a kiss. It was an odd thing to find himself doing. “I’m glad you came with me,” he said.

Heat spread through John's body and he smiled wide and happy. "I'm glad I came along too," he said. 

“And you’ll come with me tomorrow, yeah?”

John nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I would like that a lot."

“Good,” Sherlock said.


	7. Their First Case

John woke up the next morning and tugged the covers around him, tucking them around his shoulder. The room felt cold. Then he opened his eyes when he realised what was missing. He turned and looked at the empty side of the bed. Sherlock was gone again. John sighed and stretched before getting up. He wrapped his dressing around himself and slowly made his way downstairs. 

“I didn’t know if I should wake you,” Sherlock said, getting up from his desk. “That said, I’m ready to leave now.”

"Um, okay. Let me just . . . wake up properly," John said, continuing to the bathroom.

“Don’t take too long,” Sherlock called. He was eager to get going, but tried to remember what John had told him last night. He got up and turned the kettle on.

John lifted his hand in response as he went into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out and went upstairs to get dress. "Where are we going?" he called down. 

“Morgue first,” Sherlock said, heading up to John’s room. “Then we can take the suitcase to the police, so you’ll only be breaking the law for a few more hours. I hope you can handle that.”

John looked over at him and rolled his eyes. He went up and got dressed quickly. "Let's go," he said when he returned. He moved over and gave Sherlock a quick kiss.

The kiss surprised Sherlock. He stuttered, “I made you tea to go,” handing John the cup as they headed downstairs. 

In the taxi, Sherlock sat quietly for a few minutes. “Perhaps no kissing while we’re working,” he said.

"Oh. Yeah, I just thought in the flat . . . sorry," John said, looking out of his window. He felt embarrassed.

“In the flat, yes,” Sherlock said, reaching over and touching John’s hand.

John looked over at him again and smiled softly. He rubbed Sherlock's hand before pulling his own away. The taxi was stopped in front of the hospital. John paid the driver as they got out and headed inside. "Molly is going to be surprised, I think."

“We should focus on the case,” Sherlock said.

They walked through the halls, and then he pushed through the doors. “The suicides, please,” he said to Molly. 

“Good to see you, too, Sherlock,” Molly said. She pointed to a drawer. “She’s in there.” 

“We’ll need to see the others as well,” Sherlock said as he pulled open the drawer and began looking at the body.

“Are you the ‘we’?” she asked John with a smile.

John nodded. "I am," he said. "How are you doing?"

“I’m happy,” Molly said. “And you?”

“John,” Sherlock said, calling him over. “Look at this.”

"Me too," he told her as he walked over to Sherlock to see what he was shouting about.

Sherlock mumbled a few things to himself and then asked to see the other bodies. When he’d finished, he thanked Molly.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Anything else you’d like to thank me for?”

Sherlock had no idea what she was talking about. He hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks. He glanced at John.

"Don't gloat," John told her, glancing over at Sherlock. "Ready?" he asked him. 

“Ready,” Sherlock said. When they headed out, he asked John, “Do you know what she meant?”

John nodded. "I know, but don't worry about that. We should focus on the case. What did you learn from the bodies?"

“They’re not suicides,” Sherlock said. “They’re being poisoned.”

"Poison? But they take it themselves, right?" John asked. 

Sherlock looked over, surprised. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “I didn’t think you were paying attention, but I see you were.”

"Of course I was," John said, laughing softly. "It’s fascinating."

Sherlock smiled. “Fascinating or amazing? Yesterday you said amazing,” he said.

Why can't it be both?" he asked, smiling wider. 

“All right then,” Sherlock said. “Shall we head back and pick up the suitcase to take in?”

I think that's a good idea," he nodded. "I'll feel better, honestly."

“Well, I suppose that’s important,” Sherlock said. “I’ll try to keep that in mind . . . if you want to keep going.”

“What do you mean?” John asked. “Keep going where?”

“On our adventures,” Sherlock said with a cheeky grin.


End file.
